The diner hums. It’s not conversation; Lord knows I’m one of the few people, if not the only one left here this late at night. Maybe it’s the fridges in the kitchen. I look down at the pecan pie on my plate and black coffee. Barely nibbled, barely sipped, because once I finish, then I
have to leave, right?
“Didn’t like the pie?” my server asks, materializing out of nowhere.
“No, I’m – I’m still working on it,” I say.
The lightning casts shadows over his eyes, over his mouth in a more sinister way than I think the builder of the diner intended when setting up the lights. That’s if, in fact, they had anything else in mind at the time than getting the box checked off their list of normal fixtures to install in normal places of business. Maybe this is a place better frequented during times when the sunlight helps out from those big windows that right now, show nothing but a warbled reflection of the diner.
My server, Adam, according to his little name tag with a gold star sticker on the side, stands there a little longer. I swallow hard; his hooded eyes seem to stare right through my soul with nothing but apathy. I wonder if this is how people think of whatever they perceive to be God. Knowing everything about them, knowing their thoughts and dreams and fears – yet caring nothing for them, feeling only a sort of bored disdain for this creature. Perhaps that’s why they hate with such vitriol the Being they claim not to believe in.
Or maybe Adam’s on drugs to get him through the night shift and I’m keeping him from napping in the corner booth until the next customer comes inside to stare at their coffee and pick at their stale pie. Maybe I’m just paranoid the way only a late night in the middle of nowhere
can make me.
After staring at me for God-knows-how-long (the God who cares at least a little for this little person He created), after staring at each other so long we must have some sort of connection by now, Adam turns without another word and disappears behind the counter. The kitchen door doesn’t swing; I know I haven’t missed him going back there. I imagine him sat on the floor, knees drawn to his chest under the counter, maybe shivering a little for the cold air that permeates this place. AC meant to combat the humid heat outside now turns the place into a fridge.
I put my hands around my coffee cup. It’s cold.